Convergence
by julips
Summary: GI Joe is called back to duty to face an unknown enemy. And...a known enemy. Rated M for mature situations and possibly language.
1. The Unknown Legend

**A/N:** I am again doing something I don't like doing-uploading a story that has yet to be finished. But, it's gnawing at me, and I figured it was high time to upload it in an effort to get me to write more.

GI Joe characterization comes mainly from the cartoons. X-Men characterization comes mainly from the cartoons. Some creative license has been taken on both accounts, some perhaps influenced by other fan fiction, and some perhaps just simply made up, though I try not to make either obvious.

Please be patient. Updates will be slow, but I promise I will upload when I can. I have every intention of finishing the story, but it will take some time. A lot of time, especially considering I have another unfinished epic underway.

As we begin, chapters will alternate between the Joes and the X-Men. It's all about setting the scenes for what is to come.

Constructive criticism is welcome; if you have a gripe, tell me, and so long as it's constructive, I'll take it to heart. If you have a praise, tell me. Either way, I will love you for it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not GI Joe, not X-Men. Have fun. I am.

* * *

**Convergence. Chapter 1: The Unknown Legend.**

He rolled off her as soon as he was finished. "God, you're a good screw." His breathing was labored, and he kept his eyes to the ceiling. Leaning against the headboard, the sheet came to rest just above his slightly chiseled waist.

She simply lay there underneath the light sheet that clung to their sweaty bodies and closed her eyes, as if shielding herself from his predictable crassness. The silence then hung between them, their breathing slowing.

After a moment, she silently rose from the bed and donned her small silk robe, keeping her back to him. She picked up her cigarette pack, and with a strike of a match, lit the tip and tossed the match into the ashtray.

"You know, those things will kill you one day," he uttered, his breath finally leveling, once again falling under his command. He played with the top edge of the sheet and glanced at her deliberate form, not entirely expecting a response.

She didn't ignore him, but she didn't respond right away. She took a long drag from her cigarette before turning her head back toward the bed. She kept her profile to him, shadowed, so he couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm going to take a shower," she said finally. "Don't be here when I'm done."

He merely grunted his response, half in surprise and half in defeat. He knew she was moody. Apparently, this was one of her moodier days. He knew he should have expected it once she cornered him against the wall as soon as he walked in the door without so much as a 'hello.' With a twitch of his eyebrow and a pursing of his lips, he fondled the bed sheet again. He watched silently as she walked into the bathroom, a hint of a lit cigarette still dangling between her fingers.

As the door to the bathroom closed, he removed the sheet and threw on his clothes. Glancing back toward the bathroom, he shook his head before letting himself out of the house.

* * *

Toweling dry her hair, she was pleased he took her for her word. She didn't want to face him. Not today. Not any other day. Their relationship made her feel shallow, but she couldn't deny the release she felt when she spent time with him. She couldn't remember how it first happened, and long ago she realized she no longer cared. Now, it was just one other thing in her life these days that was an excuse for excitement in an otherwise mundane and dissatisfied existence. The release was purely physical; it ceased to be mental and emotional a long time ago, long before she even met him. And yet, it left her feeling more and more empty as the days passed into months, and eventually, years.

She'd go for a long ride before night fell. To get her mind off…well, off everything. She never considered herself a motorcycle aficionado despite spending time on some pretty souped up bikes, but the one day she had an urge to revisit those memories and found herself in "the motorcycle store," she realized she actually enjoyed the beasts. On a whim, she decided to purchase both varieties, a hog and a rocket. On evenings like this though, she much preferred the speed and danger of a rocket than a hog.

Shaking her head clear of her thoughts, she threw on her favorite worn jeans, pulled a t-shirt over her head, and picked up her keys. A knock on her front door stopped her from her mission. When she opened the door, she found a young man from US Air holding a package beneath an electronic console that tracked deliveries.

Glancing up from the console, the young man addressed her. "Delivery for Miss Alison Hart-Burnett. You her?"

Alison nodded and took the proffered package.

"Sign here."

Wordlessly, she signed the electronic screen of the console and handed it back to the delivery boy. After inspecting the signature, he nodded and punched a few buttons before returning to his truck.

Alison closed the door and stared at the oversized envelope. She furrowed her brow at the lack of return address, but with a shrug, she zipped off the opening strip and reached inside. Catching the feel of an envelope, she removed it from the packaging.

A one-way ticket to Washington DC. There was no letter, no sticky note, nothing, except the plane ticket. Which only meant one thing.

The telephone rang, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Hello?" she said, hooking the phone above her shoulder as she continued to examine the plane ticket.

"Did you get the package I sent?"

"I did."

"And?"

Alison sighed lightly enough so the person on the other side of the line could not hear her. She glanced into her open bedroom and wondered if her uniform was still in the closet.

"I'll be there."

"Good."

With a click of a button, she hung up the phone. She hesitated before turning the phone back on and dialing the number, but shaking her head free of the thoughts, she punched the buttons she knew by heart.

"Hello?" the voice on the other side answered.

"I need to see you."

He laughed at her. "After the way you kicked me out this afternoon, I respectfully decline."

Alison closed her eyes. She knew this was coming. "David, please."

She heard him sigh through the phone, but knew their friendship was stronger than petty differences of perspective. At least at one time it was. At some point, their friendship had fallen by the wayside, she too disinterested and he too preoccupied with their activities between the sheets.

"Meet me at the bar in an hour," he finally said.

* * *

Night had fallen in the Utah desert, and a chill was in the air. Though she was itching for a ride on her rocket, her mood had changed dramatically since receiving the package and phone call. She opted for her Harley Davidson, her old Army jacket zipped tightly around her.

She pulled into the parking lot and found a spot. It was a Tuesday night, and the bar wouldn't be crowded. She hesitated before switching off the headlamp. A quick glance told her David's car wasn't there, which meant she could get a stiff drink before he arrived. After a moment, she pulled her helmet off and shut down the bike. Swinging her leg over the side, she again took a quick glance around the parking lot before walking into the bar.

"The usual?"

Alison nodded at the bartender as she took a seat at the bar. Taking her jacket off, she hung it over the seat beside her and placed her helmet on top of it. She closed her eyes as she took a sip of her drink, the cool liquid warming her throat, waiting for the familiar comfort to spread throughout her body.

Glancing up at one of the bar's televisions, her mind whirled at the suspected reasons she was being called to Washington. The television was turned to CNN, and by the closed-captioning, she determined the report was simply another so-called expert offering his opinion on the mutant X-gene. She dismissed it, much like she dismissed all reports that claimed to be scientific when it came to mutants.

Turning her eyes back to the bar top, she took another sip of the amber liquid and swirled it in her mouth, closing her eyes at the familiar burn that washed down her throat.

She opened her eyes at the sound of familiar footsteps behind her, but didn't turn around. He'd walk over to the old 45 jukebox and pick a song that somehow always fit the occasion. She'd wait for him.

'Maybe that was how it started,' she mused, before lifting her glass to her lips again.

Holding her drink to her lips, she smiled softly as the familiar sounds of the quarters in the jukebox found their way home. She heard David walk up behind her and take the barstool next to her, motioning for the bartender to serve him a drink as well. He swiveled on the stool, and sat facing her, his elbow on the bar top.

Alison chuckled softly as Neil Young's "Unknown Legend" began playing through the bar. "She's got long blonde hair," she said softly, not looking at him.

David smiled and took a sip of his drink. "Maybe," he responded, swirling his drink, keeping the cocktail straw off to the side with the crook of his finger. He cast his eyes over to her again, meaningfully. "But it's a restless spirit nonetheless."

She frowned into her drink, and hazarded a glance in his direction.

"Did I get it right again?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes that hid the sadness he felt. This evening wasn't about another lustful rendezvous, and they both knew it.

Alison sighed and set her empty drink on the bar top, fingering the glass as the half-melted ice clinked further toward the bottom. "I need you to take over my classes," she said finally, returning her eyes to the bar.

David mulled over the sarcastic responses he had to offer in some vain attempt to return them to a familiarity that had eventually led them to their perspective differences in the first place, differences that kept them from taking the extra step to that of actual romantic lovers.

"You're more than a good screw, Alison," he said finally, hoping that by opting for something that was once the truth would get her to be honest with him.

She smiled softly as the bartender poured her another drink, but she didn't respond. She couldn't respond.

Ignoring the silence, David glanced at her Army jacket hung carelessly around the next barstool, as if protecting her helmet from the stool itself. "You wear that thing like it's a second skin."

She glanced at the jacket in question then turned her gaze back to her fresh drink. She took a sip, the ice clinking slightly in the glass.

"Ah," he said, turning back to his own drink. "It _is_ a second skin." He paused for a moment before darting his eyes back over to her. "The Unknown Legend herself, an agent of the government."

Alison couldn't keep from smiling at his suspicious joke. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," she said, though all humor was left out of her smirk.

He chuckled before downing the last of his drink and signaling for another. He cast his eyes over toward her and sobered for a moment. "Is it because of him?"

"Him who?" she asked nonchalantly, her old role as an actress coming easily to her.

Again, David chuckled. "Come on Alison, I know love lost when I see it."

She took another sip of her drink before answering, her lips in a tight line, showing nothing but a lack of emotion. "I've been specifically requested." She didn't want to acknowledge even to herself that she'd wondered the same thing. She was glad it wasn't him who called her today.

David nodded, then downed his drink, knowing that was all he would get out of her. Standing, he placed a twenty on the counter to cover both their drinks. "I'll cover your drinks and your classes. I'll even check in on your house, collect your mail and water your plants." Glancing at her, he sighed, wondering why she never could be straight with him. In part, that was one reason their friendship faded as their physical relationship grew. The effort of maintaining a one-sided relationship finally got to him, and long ago he had given up on her opening up to him. Long ago he had accepted their liaisons as purely physical.

"Goodbye, Alison."

He turned to leave, but before he could walk out the door, she jumped off her stool and caught his arm. "David, wait."

He turned to face her.

She fumbled for a minute, but then gave him a card. "If you ever need anything, please call. Thank you. For everything."

David took the card and nodded, but didn't look at it. Resignation and acceptance of the end of their relationship washed over his face. He turned and walked out the door, leaving Alison to return to the bar to finish her drink.

Glancing at the card as he started his car, he shook his head and smiled. "The Unknown Legend," he spoke aloud to himself. "Alison Hart-Burnett, Retired Corporal, US Army." He whistled briefly, knowing that if she was specifically requested even if retired, then his job was complete.

Opening his cell phone, he dialed a number. "It has begun," he said simply before flipping the phone closed and driving away.


	2. Unsettled

**Chapter 2: Unsettled**

* * *

_I close my eyes  
__Only for a moment and the moment's gone  
__All my dreams  
__Pass before my eyes, a curiosity_

_Same old song,  
__Just a drop of water in an endless sea  
__All we do,  
__Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see…_

The chilly nighttime air lingered around the mansion, encasing it, shrouding it, putting it in its pocket in preparation for the coming winter hibernation. But hibernation is an illusion in the world of the X-Men, always at the beck and call of those in need, regardless of time, age, space, or the will of those who long ago decided they were willing and able to answer the call.

No, the chill may have been in the air, but the personal chill this evening belonged to the inner demons of the lone figure strolling the mansion grounds. Inner demons that suddenly grew stronger with every breath she took.

The autumn breeze made it difficult to light the cigarette she stole from the pack left carelessly on her dresser. She knew he'd be back for them, or, rather, maybe they were left there on purpose. She didn't care; she only knew that she longed for the sweet release of a nicotine fix that she hadn't indulged in since she was young.

Before she knew it, the lone figure found herself at the small plot set aside for fallen heroes. She'd never ventured here, but after several years as an X-Men, now that she found herself here, there was only one thing she could do.

She knew the demons that had brought her to this site. She didn't consciously know the way, but she wasn't surprised when she ended up there. Taking a long drag from the cigarette, she glanced at the headstone.

Carol Danvers.

Squatting by the headstone, she stubbed the butt of the cigarette out and took a deep breath before covering her face with her gloved hands, as if the one deliberate movement would wipe away all her tension.

She spun suddenly, sensing a form behind her. She squinted her eyes in slight annoyance, realizing it was Jean Grey, the X-Men's resident telekinetic, telepath, and psychotherapist.

Cautiously, Jean approached the crouched Rogue, surprised to find her at the site. "Oh, I'm sorry…"

Slowly, Rogue turned back around to face the small plot and rose from her squatting position. "It's alright, Jean," she said quietly, her back to Jean.

Slowly, Jean stepped forward, and although she knew by heart which grave Rogue stood by, she took a quick glance at the headstone just to make sure.

"Ah've nevah been here before," Rogue offered, hoping to break the awkward silence that descended between the two. Never one to mince words, she knew Jean was surprised to find her here. And yet, though the two had never been what most would call friends, the neutral grounds of the cemetery provided a delicate balance between personal and professional life that Rogue knew she'd break if she excused herself. Here, they were bound by the oath of teammates and the loyalty and trust of such a relationship.

Jean nodded and gave a tentative smile. "I come every once in a while," she responded, glancing back at the headstone. Quietly, she moved to sit at a small bench that rested just to the side of the cemetery, so that she'd be once again facing Rogue. She pulled her coat a little tighter around her and took on a wistful expression. "Reminds me why I continue to fight the good fight."

Rogue nodded a little uncomfortably.

"I didn't know you smoked," Jean said, noticing the stubbed out butt on the ground.

Rogue shrugged and gave a small smile. "Ah don't. Or haven't in a long while. Stole a few from Remy."

Jean watched, amused at the light she saw flicker in Rogue's eyes at the mention of their Cajun teammate. She wondered if the same light appeared in her eyes when she mentioned Scott.

"I don't mind," Jean said after a moment, giving Rogue the green light if she wanted to light up again. "And I won't tell," she added with a twinkle, drawing up her knees to sit sideways on the bench.

A flash of slight relief came over Rogue as she pulled another smoke from her jacket. Sure to cover the flame of the lighter with her gloved hand, she lit the tip, and again, inhaled deeply.

"Do you ever think about her?" Jean asked, indicating Carol without so much as a glance back to the headstone. Jean rested her head against her arms, folded above her knees in a slight fetal position.

Rogue eyed Jean suspiciously, but since Jean found her at the cemetery, she knew she should be truthful. "All the tahme," she said after a moment. "She's locked up here, ya' know," Rogue added, pointing to her head.

"What would you say to her if she was here?" Rather than the usual clinical method that Jean normally asked personal questions, this was simply clouded in curiosity.

Still, Rogue stiffened at the personal nature of the question and took another drag of her cigarette. Glancing back at Jean, she paused before answering. "That Ah'm sorry." She paused again, diverting her eyes, yet still taking in Jean's quiet presence. "And thank you." It was almost a whisper, but Jean had heard it.

If she was surprised by the answer, Jean didn't show it. But Rogue knew the psychologist in Jean understood what Rogue meant, so she didn't elaborate.

"You know, Rogue," Jean said hesitantly, raising her head from her knees, daring to break that delicate balance between professional and personal. "If you ever want to talk, I'll listen."

The hand that held the cigarette dropped to Rogue's side as she scoffed, turning her gaze skyward.

Jean glanced away, slightly offended. She hadn't meant it as an invitation for a psychological appointment, but mused Rogue would have taken it as such. Silently she chastised herself for not expecting her teammate's reaction.

Rogue tensed as she watched Jean flinch. "Oh, you were serious," she said, a hint of disbelief in not only her voice, but also her posture.

Jean turned her gaze back to Rogue and nodded.

Rogue took another drag of her cigarette and glanced away, slowly contemplating this new feeling of someone other than Remy and Logan offering to be her friend. She turned back to Jean. "Thanks, sugah," she said with a small, albeit genuine, smile on her face.

Jean smiled softly at Rogue, and watched as her teammate stubbed out her second cigarette.

As Rogue turned to leave, she stopped just before hitting the thicket of pine trees that shrouded the cemetery.

Jean glanced expectantly at her.

"You too, Jeannie," Rogue said softly.

Jean smiled at Rogue's words. She knew that the use of her name instead of the oft-used "sugah" meant Rogue understood the invitation as coming from a friend rather than a doctor. Jean nodded briefly, and again Rogue gave her a small smile and a wave before disappearing beyond the trees.

Jean placed her head back on her knees, a renewed sense of peace within her.

* * *

**A/N:**

Most of my characterization of the X-Men comes from the 90s cartoon, though as you can tell, I've taken some liberties. I'm of sound mind that people shouldn't attempt dialect if they can't get it right all the time, but I've found that it's simply not right if I don't give it the ol' college try. With Rogue and Gambit, I have got to try, because it's _such_ a part of who they are. So, sorry if I don't fit the bill, but it just doesn't seem right not even trying. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Also, I would apologize for taking so long to update, but I did warn you-it would take some time. And so it has. Part of it is just, well, life. Part of it is figuring a way around a bit of the story that's so Rogue and X-Men heavy that it doesn't seem to fit, except in the way it comes back together. I still haven't decided on that one.

Finally, I own nothing. Not GI Joe, not the X-Men, and not the characters within each. Opening lines come from "Dust in the Wind," by Kansas. I don't own that either, but it did seem to fit the occasion. Consider that my disclaimer for this chapter.


	3. A Call to Duty

**A Call to Duty.**

* * *

She sat on a park bench near the base of the Lincoln Memorial, waiting. She hadn't received any instructions, but she knew he would come. She was not disappointed when moments later a figure sat beside her.

"You look good, Lady Jaye."

"I try to keep up, General." In truth, she never could break herself of her strict exercise habit.

Hawk produced a packet of papers. "You ready for this?"

She glanced sideways at him, but didn't answer.

"Lady Jaye," Hawk said calmly. "You're the best of the best. I wouldn't contact you if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary. But don't accept these papers if you cannot commit completely. Walk away if you have to, no questions asked."

He smiled warmly as she took the papers from him without hesitation. "Your re-enlistment papers are there as well."

Silently, she reached into her jacket pocket and produced her old dog tags. Idly, she ran her fingers over the metallic bumps that marked her identity.

"The others?" she asked, glancing back at the general.

He slapped her comfortably on the back, not noticing her tense at the gesture. "We're working on reassembling the Joe team as we speak. Everything will be ready upon your return for the debriefing."

She stood then, clutching the packet of information Hawk handed her. Glancing at the sitting statue of Abraham Lincoln, she sighed. She sighed for the return of the purpose she craved, she sighed for the memories, the good and the bad, and she sighed for her country. They had all told her she'd miss the life when she declined to reenlist after the disbanding of the team, but they didn't know the real reason she had refused their offer. Only one did. And she hadn't spoken to him in years.

With a shake of her head, she realized that by accepting this package, she was walking right back into the lion's den. The Joes had been her life, and she hadn't found peace since. So here she was, back where it all began. Back where her life was waiting for her.

Hawk stood as well. "Welcome back, Lady Jaye," he said, offering his hand for her to shake.

She cast her eyes to the general's outstretched hand. She would have suspected a salute was more in order, but realized the handshake was more of an indication of respect than a proper military procedure. This _was_ serious. Alison shook his hand confidently, her momentary reverie forgotten. "I won't disappoint you."

* * *

A half-eaten dinner sat cold in the hotel room, as Alison poured over the contents of the envelope handed to her earlier in the day. The renowned precision that was in part responsible for landing herself on the Joe team in the first place came back as second nature, and she lay sprawled on the bed scouring over the papers, taking in everything she could.

'This is new,' she thought, as she realized the target wasn't the Cobra of yore, but rather a small band of suspected mutant renegades. But she realized it made perfect sense if all those analysts predicting war were on the right track.

Her target for surveillance was a small school in Westchester, New York, set up for "gifted" children. Mutant children, the government suspected. Apparently, the government was just as torn as the country, and when this school somehow drew attention to itself, the Jugglers decided it was important enough to call in the big guns. And in the world of the United States military, there were no bigger guns than the Joe team, even if the team had been deactivated for five years.

She briefly wished she paid more attention to the reports she'd seen on the television, but now there wasn't any time for that. Mutant-human relations were the current "hot topic" in the media frenzy and did little to assuage any fears of the average viewer. Alison learned a long time ago that any 3rd-party fear mongerer like the media served little purpose when it came to the real truth of the situation. She'd learn all she needed to know first hand, or at least through the intelligence she now held in her hands.

Scanning over the intelligence already gathered about the school, she chuckled softly to herself when she realized suspected telepaths worked at the school, one of whom actually ran it. She sat in thought for a moment, wondering how she'd pull this off with telepaths present. With a slight smile, she realized her first assignment was to attend a month long rigorous training session to learn how to block telepaths' probes into her mind. She doubted their effectiveness, but realized their importance if she was to pull off this assignment.

Setting the docket aside, she pondered the ramifications of all that she was entering into again. She, like David, wondered if _he_ would be there. She hadn't seen or spoken to him in nearly five years, when they broke off their relationship. 'Well,' she thought silently to herself, '_I_ broke it off.' She scoffed slightly at the memories, not willing to give in to the heartbreak they gave her.

Cutting that line of thought off abruptly, she thought instead about this school for mutant children, if that is in fact what it was. The government suspected the school of training mutants for battle against humans, and the evidence in the docket supported the suspicion. It was up to her to uncover the truth, and figure out who was plotting against the human race, potentially leading the world into a civil war that no one, human or mutant, was prepared for.

Well, at least it was up to her to discover if the school in New York was a stronghold for the movement.

Settling into bed, she sighed, knowing her first training session on blocking telepaths was coming bright and early in the morning.


End file.
